


Right Here Waiting

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, modern meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: Nicolo dies for the first time outside the gates of Jerusalem.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 51
Kudos: 307





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I wondered what would happen if Joe and Nicky somehow failed to stick together after their first death, and then decided I wanted to write about it.

1099

Nicolo dies for the first time outside the gates of Jerusalem. He inadvertently wanders too far from his own flank and finds himself beset by enemy hordes, unable to flee back to the relative safety of his own people. 

Knowing his life is now a lost cause, he cuts down as many soldiers as he can, determined to make his death count for something. At least a dozen fall before his blade, while he himself stays relatively unscathed.

Unscathed that is until a tall warrior emerges from the blood and the muck, his scimitar held at the ready as he watches Nicolo approach. His gaze, what can be seen of it through his helm, is level, unafraid, and Nicolo can already tell they will be evenly matched.

His suspicion is proven correct the moment their blades clash together for the first time. They parry back and forth, moving like to two creatures caught up in a dance as opposed to a battle, neither of them taking their eyes off the other and neither of them giving any ground.

Nicolo loses all thought of the war going on around them. He is entirely focused on the man before him, especially his eyes, which are mesmerizing where their glint is visible beneath the lip of his helm.

They fight for what feels like hours, but in reality can be no more than a few minutes. Nicolo feels his arm grow weary, but it’s when he’s shifting his stance to adjust for his fatigue that he sees it, an opening where he enemy has likewise shifted to accommodate for the change in his position.

The man has leaned too far to the left, and in doing so has inadvertently bared his throat to Nicolo’s long sword, a piece with a wider reach than the curved blade his own people prefer. He realizes his mistake and tries to correct it, but he’s not fast enough to keep Nicolo from slicing his flesh open almost from ear to ear.

Blood gushes from the wound, spilling to pool on the ground where it joins countless droplets that have been shed before it. The man drops his scimitar, his hand coming up instead to clamp around the ruin of his throat, but it’s too little too late. He sags to his knees, and then eventually onto his side.

Nicolo has no idea what makes him step closer as opposed to further back. He’s seen the death throes of countless men at this point, and truly there’s no reason for this man to be any different. Yet somehow he is, and he moves forward like a moth drawn to a flame.

It is a costly mistake. The man Nicolo was half convinced to be already dead lunges forward as quick as any snake and buries a dagger in his gut all the way down to the hilt.

Nicolo stares at the knife where it protrudes from his body, only partly understanding what’s just happened. Then the searing pain hits and he too falls to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

He turns to look at his enemy, this beast who’s killed him, but finds it’s already too late. It appears bringing about Nicolo’s own death will be the last act this man ever performs because his dark eyes are now vacant, staring sightlessly up at the sky while the last of his lifeblood drains from his mangled throat.

“You’re lucky,” Nicolo tells him, letting his head fall back against the ground. “At least for you it was quick.”

*****

2020

Nicky comes awake in the safehouse living room where he’d fallen asleep, disoriented and half expecting to feel sand beneath him. There isn’t any, however, merely the rough spun blanket someone had apparently thrown over him while he’d slept.

Blinking, he slides his hand under the blanket, relieved when he feels the butt of the gun he’d stashed nearby the night before, and then rolls over onto his back to try and rub the sleep from his eyes.

“You were muttering under your breath again,” a voice says, and when Nicky turns he finds Booker sitting atop one of the packing crates he’s been using as a makeshift desk, his laptop out and balanced on his knees. “Bad dream?”

“Aren’t they always?” Nicky asks, safe in the knowledge that Andy, Quynh and Nile have yet to rendezvous with them, so no one’s around who will slap him for being maudlin.

True to form, Booker offers him a faint nod and salutes him with a bottle of whatever alcohol it is that he’s drinking for breakfast. “Touché,” he says.

Sitting up slowly, Nicky stretches to begin working the kinks out of his back. No matter how long he lives he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow to enjoy sleeping in anything other than a real bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Booker asks haltingly, and Nicky thinks he must really look bad if one Sebastien le Livre is prepared to try and talk about feelings.

“I was remembering the first time I died,” Nicky says, admittedly more harshly than intended. “Would you want to discuss it if our positions were reversed?”

Since Booker had had arguably the most unpleasant first death of all of them - a fact of which Nicky is well aware - he raises his hands in a show of immediate surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he says. “Handle it however you please.”

Nicky spares a brief thought to apologizing, but he’s still too out of sorts from the dream, from the  _memory_ , to continue this conversation. Standing abruptly, he slides his gun into the back of his jeans and goes in search of his coat.

“I’m getting something to eat,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll be back later.”

If Booker says anything in answer he doesn’t hear it.

*****

The dream weighs heavily on Nicky’s mind as he meanders along the city streets. He’s heading towards a little cafe he’d stumbled over on their second day here, and the fact that his feet already know the way means his head is free to focus on other things - whether Nicky wants it to or not.

He hasn’t thought of Jerusalem in years, or at least not in such great detail. He supposes he’d mentioned it briefly when Nile had joined their ranks six months ago, but why it’s cropping up now he has no idea. They’re in Switzerland of all places. Short of winding up in the literal arctic, he’s hard pressed to think of a location less similar to a desert.

An exhausted looking barista raises her head from behind the counter as he enters the cafe. It’s just the two of them at the moment, although Nicky imagines there’s probably a baker puttering away out back, and she barely says a word as he orders a coffee and a bun from the rack of pastries on the nearest shelf.

Sustenance, or at least a simulacrum of same, acquired, Nicky takes a seat at one of the three tiny tables located near the shopfront. He’s got nothing to do until the rest of the team arrives, and he’s feeling off-kilter in a way that makes him want to avoid the safehouse.

He takes a bite of the pastry, then washes it down with a sip of his coffee, but neither action is enough to keep the memories at bay. His gut churns unexpectedly, the phantom pain of that first knife slicing him open rising up in a way it hasn’t for decades, maybe even centuries.

It had taken him a long time to die, he knows. He can’t remember how long, not exactly, but it had certainly been slower than the man who’d done him in.  His corpse had long since cooled by the time Nicky had finally succumbed to his own wound.

Then, of course, the first resurrection is always the slowest. Nicky has no idea how long he’d truly been out, but the main battle had shifted closer by the time he’d gasped back to life. He’d come to at the bottom of a pile of bodies, barely able to breathe between the pressure and the pervasive stink of rot. 

Eventually, he’d been able to force his way out of the pit of horror he’d found himself in. He’d even managed to hold onto his sword, though the dagger that had killed him must have fallen away at some point, possibly to lie next to its owner.

Afterwards he’d made his way back to his own camp where he’d cleaned himself up as best he could. He’d lied to his commander and claimed to have gotten hit in the head during the fight, taking a blow that had rendered him unconscious and resulted in him being mistaken for dead.

Nicky might not have understood what was happening at the time, but he’d known it wasn’t something he should be sharing with all and sundry. 

His commander, however, hadn’t seemed to care much. No doubt in his eyes he’d simply lost one less soldier than he’d thought and that was that. Nicky had gone right back into the fray the next day and stayed there for far longer than he should have.

It didn’t take long for him to learn that his miraculous resurrection wasn’t a one-time deal. He’d died again the next day and twice more the day after that. By the third day he’d also realized that even non-fatal wounds healed within moments, at which point he’d known he had to leave. People were beginning to grow suspicious and nothing good was going to come of that.

He’d struck out on his own under the cover of darkness, narrowly skirting around the sentries who’d been posted by the Crusader armies. Armed with his sword and a pack of stolen provisions, he’d headed back the way the army had come, initially figuring that going home was his best option.

That plan had stayed with him for all of a week before it had finally dawned on him that his family would be just as inclined to ask questions he couldn’t answer as his superiors would be. However unintentionally he might have done so, he’d become a man without a place to call his own.

Shortly thereafter the dreams had started up. Visions of two fiercely striking women, riding together on horseback. Somehow, and to this day he has no idea how, he’d known they were looking for him. Initially uncomfortable with that idea, he’d done his best to avoid letting that happen.

It thus took years for them to find each other. Quynh and Andromache had initially moved quickly, booking passage on the first available ship and landing at the same port Nicky - then still Nicolo - had docked on when he’d first left Genova. Their journey had quickly stalled out, however, because Nicky had very little idea of where he was and no intention at all to try and show them. When they finally had found him, he’d died at least another dozen times over, and he was still wary of their company.

They’d welcomed him with open arms, though, thrilled to once again be able to add another to their family. It’d been just the two of them since Lykon’s passing centuries before, and they’d jumped at the chance to expand their numbers. Eventually, Nicky had settled enough to let that happen.

More than seven hundred years would pass before another would arise. Booker had taken longer to adjust than most, but adjust he eventually had. Then after him had come Nile, their newest and youngest, barely two centuries later. Thankfully, she’d fit in well, and the five of them have easily coalesced as a team.

Case in point, it’s that seamless functionality that’s brought them into their latest endeavour. 

Always one to keep his ear to the ground, Booker had recently picked up some chatter about a group of right-wing extremists who’ve been getting more active of late. Their exact plan remains a mystery, but it’s become apparent that they’re at least partially financing their operations through the illegal sale of valuable cultural artifacts.

Andy had decided to divide the team and try a two-pronged approach. She, Quynh, and Nile were to try and track the extremists directly, while Nicky and Booker had been dispatched to follow the trail of antiques - something they’ve since narrowed down to their current city. Given that this was the first of the leads to pan out, the three women will be joining them shortly at the safehouse.

For his part, Nicky hasn’t had much to do. He’s essentially along as backup, while Booker does his thing with the technological sleuthing. He’s thus spent too many days technically on the job but with too much time on his hands.

Perhaps that explains the sudden onset of memories. He’s never been one for sitting around idly, so it makes sense for his mind to start wandering when he has very little to do.

On the other hand, the memories feel like more than a result of boredom. There’s something percolating at the back of his brain, a niggling sense he can’t shake, almost as if there’s something nearby he’s meant to find.

Deciding to keep that thought to himself for now, Nicky takes the last few bites of his pastry, before draining the rest of his coffee. Standing to collect his garbage, he tosses his cup and napkin in the bin, offers the barista a faint smile, and then moves to head back the way he came.

*****

Nicky spots a car that wasn’t there before upon us return to the safehouse, and therefore isn’t surprised to find it a much busier place than it had been when he’d left. Andy, Quynh and Nile are all settled in the living room with Booker, and his heart feels a little less heavy at the sight of them.

“Hey, old man,” Nile, the first to notice him, jokes, “I don’t suppose you thought to bring some breakfast for a bunch of world weary travellers, did you? There’s no real food in this place.”

“Sorry, no,” he admits, smiling faintly when she stands to give him a quick hug. You’d think it’d been months since they’d seen each other, as opposed to only a few weeks. “You’re early, otherwise I would have.”

At that, she snorts. “You can thank these two,” she says, pointing an accusing finger towards Andy and Quynh. “I’d’ve been perfectly happy to find a hotel somewhere to crash, but they insisted on taking turns driving through the night.”

“Of course,” Nicky says, noting Andy’s resulting shrug and Quynh’s Cheshire Cat grin. “I should not have expected anything less.”

“Damn right,” Andy grunts. “We’re here for a job, remember? The quicker we get through it, the quicker we can leave.”

Nicky shares a sharp look with Quynh at her tone, but merely gets a raised eyebrow in return. That’s alright, though. If Quynh isn’t concerned it just means Andy’s grumpy about something minor, as opposed to significant.

Stepping around Nile, he moves to take a seat next to Booker, while their youngest member proceeds to reclaim her vacated spot. “There’s a nice little cafe within walking distance,” he says as he sits down. “I’ll get you the directions.”

“In a minute,” Andy commands. “Sit-rep first.”

Booker snorts, sitting up a little straighter. “Everything’s fine, Andy. I’ve got Nicky’s cover set up. He’s going to be posing as a collector who’s in town to track down some new pieces. That’ll give him what he needs to run in the right circles and hopefully draw out the bad guys.”

“That’s good,” Quynh says, and here her face twists in annoyance, “because we came up with only dead ends while trying to tail them.”

Which might explain why Andy’s in such an evident snit, Nicky figures. Knowing better than to say so, however, he shrugs instead. “We’ve got a few leads,” he says diplomatically. “The head of a local university specializes in art history and likely deals with collectors on the regular. I’ve got a meeting booked with her later this morning.”

“I’ve already vetted her,” Booker asks, expecting the question that’s bound to come next. “There’s no evidence she’s involved in anything she shouldn’t be, and she’s held her position for the last twenty years. If she was up to something nefarious I’d have been able to find it.”

“Big word,” Nile snickers, earning herself multiple eye rolls in response. “Oh come on, it’s like 6:30 in the morning and I’ve been up all night. I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere.”

“You could have slept in the car,” Andy tells her, which just makes her scoff.

“Please, have you met you?” Nile asks, making a show of stretching heavily. “Immortality be damned, I fear for my life every time you get behind the wheel of a car.”

“In her defence, cars have only been around for the blink of an eye by most of our standards,” Quynh says, patting a disgruntled looking Andy on the arm. “She’s much better with horses.”

“And yet not many people are riding horses in the middle of downtown Lucern,” Nile replies. She yawns again. “Man, I need coffee. Where’s this shop you mentioned, Nicky?”

He dutifully rattles off the address, unsurprised when all three women and also Booker get to their feet. “Will you be back before I leave?” He asks, not really caring about the answer. He’s well aware of what his tasks are today, and he feels out of sorts enough to want some space to himself.

Booker shoots him an incomprehensible look. “The meeting’s not until ten,” he points out. “Hungry though some of us may be, I can’t see it taking three and a half hours for us to get fed. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Nicky scowls at him, partly for his asking in general and partly for his alerting the others to the fact that he’s off his game. “I’m fine,” he says curtly. “Just tired.”

“He had a weird dream,” Booker adds unhelpfully, and Nicky gives serious thought to throwing something at him. 

All three women, and Nile in particular, perk up at this.

“Weird dreams like mine?” She demands. “About that guy?”

As always when another of their kind arises, Nile had dreamed of them and they of her until they’d managed to track her down. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology that hadn’t taken very long, yet unlike every other time this has happened, Nile still dreams of a team member who doesn’t exist. Where she should have seen only four people, in her case there had been a fifth, a man sitting in an art studio with a barely touched canvas in front of him.

She’d tried describing him to them - dark, curly hair, dark eyes, brown skin, a full beard - and Booker had even run some cursory searches, but no one recognized the person she was talking about and the searches had turned up empty.

Initially, Andy had insisted they try and solve this riddle, not wanting to leave another new immortal out in the world on his own if that was somehow what was happening. After months had passed with no leads, though, even she’d had to concede that they weren’t getting anywhere and they needed to move on.

At this point, most of them have concluded that Nile’s dreams are just that - dreams. Albeit oddly persistent ones. Nile, however, isn’t so sure.

“What did you see?” She asks now. “Are you sure it wasn’t my guy?”

Not wanting to get her hopes up, Nicky dredges up a smile from somewhere. “I’m positive,” he says as kindly as he can. “I was dreaming about the first time I died, Nile, so unless your mystery man was alive a thousand years ago, I don’t think he was there.”

“Oh,” her shoulders sagging despite his best intentions, Nile palms awkwardly at the back of her neck. “Sorry, Nicky. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Nicky shrugs. “What’s that saying? Water off a duck’s back? I don’t know what birds have to do with anything, but it’s no problem. No harm done. And it was just a dream,” he adds before any of the others can pipe up. “I’m fine. More than good to go on this op if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not - okay, fine,” Andy grunts when Quynh prods lightly at her elbow. “If you say you’re good to go then we’ll trust you to know what you’re doing.”

Nicky flashes her the best grin he can muster. “Only took you nine hundred years, huh, boss?”

Andy rolls her eyes.

*****

The head of the university turns out to be an ancient and grizzled slip of a woman named Mara Keller. It’s possible she might have just topped five feet tall in her hayday, but age has taken even that from her and at the moment she stands about even with Nicky’s collarbone.

Not that this seems to have slowed her down any, he’s quick to note. She watches him with narrowed eyes as he comes into her office for their scheduled meeting, her gaze as shrewd as any he’s ever seen.

“So you’re the one who’s been wondering about rare antiques, hmm?” She says, and it doesn’t take a master of deduction to ping her as unimpressed. “Dare I ask why that is?”

A little taken aback by her forcefulness, Nicky decides to fight fire with fire. “I’m a collector,” he says bluntly. “I happen to maintain a number of rare pieces, and I’m under the impression that many similar items tend to pass through this area. As such, I figured I would ask around to find out exactly where that happens.”

“Hmm, well at least you’re honest,” she says. She waves at an armchair that’s stacked high with textbooks. “Shove those wherever you can find a place and have a seat.”

Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Nicky does as he’s told. Picking up the books, he carefully transfers them to a couch shoved in a corner of the room that’s already liberally covered with documents. Then he returns to the now vacant seat.

Settling into it, he watches as Dr. Keller eyes him from over the expanse of her desk. “Something wrong?” He asks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replies. “What makes you think the university will have what you’re looking for? Our own collection is small, and we’re not in the habit of parting with items. Why come here. And in person, no less?”

Nicky snorts. “I assure you, I didn’t come all this way just to meet with you specifically. I’m meeting with a number of contacts on this business trip, but I don’t believe in looking a gift horse in the mouth. I know you can’t personally help me add to my collection, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you have connections who might be able to do so.”

She’s quiet for long enough that he suspects this lead is going to be a dead end, but then she surprises him with a crooked smile. “You’ll be wanting to speak with Young Joseph then. He’s your best bet for acquiring what you’re after.”

“Come again?” Nicky asks, confused.

Dr. Keller’s smile becomes more of an outright grin. “Joseph Schmidt,” she says. “I call him Young Joseph because I knew his grandfather, also called Joseph, a lifetime ago and the boy’s his spitting image. He also hates being called young, which I find amusing.”

“If anyone will be able to help you, he’s the one,” she adds. “He’s not a local, his family left decades ago and he only came back maybe two - three years ago to tidy up his grandfather’s effects, but he’s a collector as well. Always has his ear to the ground if you catch my meaning.”

“I do,” Nicky says. “Where can I find him?”

She digs a sticky note pad out of the recesses of her desk, and then roots around in a dish until she comes up with a pen. The necessary items obtained, she proceeds to scrawl an address out on the paper, rips it free, and hands it to him.

“That should be all you need,” she says, reclining back in her chair. “Please tell him I said hello.”

*****

When Nicky exits the building, he heads straight for the lot where he’d left the rental car, pulling out his pre-paid cellphone as he goes. It rings twice before Andy picks up.

“Any luck?” She asks, never one for small talk.

“Maybe,” Nicky replies. Reaching the car, he keys it open and slips inside while still talking. “I’ve got the name and address of a local collector. I’m heading there now.”

“Mm. You need a spotter?” 

“I’m not planning to go inside,” he says. “I just want to get a feel for the place. I’ll head back once I know more.”

Andy’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Alright,” she says finally. “Give me the info so we know where to look if you don’t make it back home, and make sure you check in regularly.”

Biting back a grin, Nicky dutifully rattles off the details contained in the good doctor’s note and moves to enter the same address in the car’s GPS. “Looks like it’s about a half an hour away from where I am. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Andy grunts an affirmative and then hangs up without so much as a goodbye. Long used to this sort of behaviour from her, Nicky shoves the phone back into his pocket and starts to ease the car out of his parking spot. Shortly after that he’s on the road and heading towards his intended destination.

As predicted it takes him just under a half an hour to get where he’s heading, and he’s immediately confused upon arrival. He’d been expecting a secure building, maybe a chic condo or a townhouse. Instead, he finds himself in front of a cottage overgrown with plants that looks like it’s seen better days. It certainly doesn’t look like a place where one would maintain a valuable antiques collection.

Then again Andy’s been known to keep priceless artifacts in caves, so to each their own.

There’s already a car located in the too small driveway, so Nicky opts to park on the street rather than risk upsetting the cottage owner by boxing him in. Then he climbs out of his vehicle and moves to take stock of his surroundings.

The cottage is almost picturesque, a compact two storey building with shuttered windows and a vine-covered trellis running up one side towards the roof. Flowers of every colour are spread out across the yard, and a number of large trees provide exactly the right amount of shade to complete the image. It’s like something out of a dream.

Then someone coughs in the distance and a voice pipes up to shatter the illusion. “I don’t mean to be rude,” it says, speaking from somewhere within the depths of the yard, “but did you need something?”

Startled, Nicky steps forward until he’s at the front edge of the lawn, his waist butting up against the top of the dainty fence separating it from the sidewalk. Hunching over, he glances around until he finds the source of the noise.

There’s a man perched in a comfy looking chair beneath one of the massive trees dotting the property. He has what appears to be a sketchbook open in his lap, and a small table on which a mug of what’s probably tea sits resting by his elbow. He’s also watching Nicky with an expression best described as amusement twisting his features.

Caught out but trying not to show it, Nicky clears his throat. “Are you Joseph Schmidt?”

The man flashes a smile that’s especially bright in the depths of his dark beard. “I suppose it depends on who’s asking,” he says, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who are you?”

There’s something oddly familiar about his eyes, so much so that Nicky almost misses the question. “Um,” he says belatedly, “Nicholas Smith. Dr. Keller at the university sent me.”

“Oh, Mara,” Schmidt exclaims, still smiling wide. “She’s up to her old tricks again then, is she? Let me guess, you went to her asking about purchasing antiques for your personal use and she in turn pointed you to me, yes?”

Nicky blinks, suddenly on edge. “That’s right,” he says flatly. “How did you know?”

Schmidt’s smile vanishes as abruptly as it had appeared. “Because Mara’s no more willing to see priceless artifacts fall into the wrong hands than I am. If she sent you to me it means she didn’t like the sense she got from you and was pawning you off in order to avoid dealing with you herself.”

“Well that’s ... annoying,” Nicky decides, frustrated that even after all the centuries he’s been alive he can still fall for one of the oldest deceptions in the books. “I didn’t suspect her for a second.”

“She’s very good,” Schmidt agrees. He cocks his head to one side, raking Nicky up and down with a single glance. “I have to admit, you’re not the type she usually sends me. More often than not people are far more grumpy when they realize they’ve been sent on a wild goose chase.”

Nicky rests his hands on top of the fence and shrugs. “I didn’t have anything else going on today,” he says, and it’s not like he wouldn’t have had to follow up on any leads regardless. “I take it then that you don’t have an antiques collection of your own?”

And now Schmidt’s grin is back yet again. “Quite the contrary,” he says with a wink. “I have a very well curated collection. Some of it’s even here. I’m just not interested in selling.”

Maybe not, but if he’s in tune with the antiques trade then he might very well know who is. Dr. Keller didn’t do it intentionally, but it looks like she may still have provided Nicky with a worthwhile lead. Now all he has to do is figure out how to use it.

He thinks about his earlier promise to Andy to keep this strictly a hands off outing, but a sixth sense is telling him that if leaves now Joseph Schmidt will not be overly receptive to a later appearance.

“Mr. Schmidt,” he starts, only to be cut off immediately.

“Joe.” The other man insists. “Mr. Schmidt was my,” and here his grin somehow gets even bigger, “father.”

“Alright. Joe.” Nicky acquiesces. “Is there somewhere more private we could talk?”

Joe blinks, but he still looks more amused than put out, which Nicky chooses to interpret as a good sign. “Are you trying to invite yourself into my home? Mr. Smith -“

“Nicky,” Nicky corrects because turnabout is fair play.

“Nicky,” Joe agrees. “We’ve only just met. That’s rather forward don’t you think? You could at least buy me dinner first.”

“I - I’m sorry?” Nicky stutters unsure as to whether or not that was a serious statement.

It must have been though because Joe straightens in his seat and gives Nicky another thorough once over. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says finally. “Have dinner with me tonight, and afterwards maybe we can have the private conversation you’re so obviously interested in.”

“I didn’t - I wasn’t -“ Nicky starts, but it’s clear he’s backed himself into a corner and there’s only one way out. “Alright, fine,” he says, feeling a little flare of satisfaction when Joe’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

“What did you have in mind?”

*****

“I’m sorry. Are you saying you went on a reconnaissance mission and somehow came back with a date?” Nile’s voice is incredulous as she speaks, but she rocks back and forth in her seat like she’s delighted. “Only you, man.”

“It’s not a date,” Nicky insists weakly, but it’s evident from the look on Quynh and Andy’s faces that they don’t believe him either. Then he hears Booker’s distinctive snicker behind him and turns to glare at the other man.

Who salutes him with a beer. “Hey, I’m not judging,” he says right before taking a swig. “Mazel tov, old friend.” 

Nicky gives him a dirty look and turns back around. “It’s not a date,” he repeats. “It’s an intel gathering op to get a closer look at someone who might have valuable information we can use.”

“Over a candlelit dinner?” Quynh asks, while beside her Andy raises a single, skeptical eyebrow that nevertheless speaks volumes. “I think, Nico, that you are trying to hide your true intentions behind a whole bunch of useless spy jargon.”

“What she said,” Nile agrees, pointing at Quynh for added measure.

Nicky sighs, knowing when he’s beat.

Quynh and Nile help him get ready before he leaves the house - Quynh because she insists he look the part even if it’s not a dangerous mission and Nile because ‘It’s bad enough you dress like someone’s grandpa ninety percent of the time, bro. I’m not letting you try and woo some poor artist without putting at least a little effort in.’

Nicky thinks, and not for the first time either, that he can’t ever remember being that young.

Still, when he finds himself staring at the full length mirror in the bathroom shortly before he’s due to depart, he has to admit he looks good. There’d been no dress slacks on hand that would fit him, but he’s in a pair of snug jeans that look like they were made for him and a dark green sweater he’s told brings out the color of his eyes. A well kept leather jacket completes the ensemble, and he’s sliding it up over his shoulders with practised ease when someone raps on the bathroom door.

“Just a minute,” he calls. Settling the jacket in place, he pats his hair quickly to make sure it too looks the way he (or rather Nile) wants it and then wrenches the door open.

Booker, the idiot, whistles. “Looking good, Nicky,” he says, grinning unrepentantly when this earns him a scowl. “You clean up nice.”

“I am not above shooting you on principle,” Nicky warns, shoving past him as he steps out into the hallway. “What do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what you need,” Booker says, dropping the act. It always amazes Nicky how good he is at switching into business mode when the time calls for it. “I’m your backup tonight.”

“Backup?” Nicky echoes. “It’s dinner at a restaurant with a civilian. I don’t need backup.”

“We think he’s a civilian,” Booker corrects. “We don’t actually know for sure. Plus, based on the collection it sounds like this guy keeps, even if he’s not involved in the smuggling he could be a target. Andy says that means you’re not going in alone.”

Nicky bites back a sudden urge to groan. As much as he might not like it, he knows that if Andy’s already issued a direct order he’s stuck with it. “Fine,” he grits out. “What will you be doing?”

“There’s an empty loft apartment in the building across from where you’re eating,” Booker replies. “I’m going to set up shop there and so long as you take a table outside I shouldn’t have any trouble keeping an eye on things.”

Nicky frowns at this. Usually he’s the one who runs point in the manner Booker’s describing. He’s the most patient and can spend hours perched unmoving in the same spot while he covers his family. Being in the opposite position leaves him feeling wrong footed.

Almost as if he can sense where Nicky’s thoughts are heading, and maybe he can, Booker gives him a faint smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure things will go back to normal soon enough.”

“They’d better,” Nicky grunts, still feeling off kilter. “I’m too old to learn new tricks at this point.”

*****

Joe’s waiting for him when he arrives at the restaurant, but he’s made no move to go in and get them a table. 

“It’s not very busy yet,” he explains, apparently able to parse out Nicky’s unasked question via a single raised eyebrow. “I figured I’d wait for you to get here and that way we could choose where we wanted to sit together.”

“Also,” he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “it’d save me the embarrassment of having to endure the waitress’ pitying glances if you stood me up. There’s nothing sadder than a man who’s just checked his watch for the forth time in ten minutes and insists that no really, his date will be here at any moment, he’s sure of it.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Nicky blurts, unable to stop himself. “I’m - I mean, that would be terribly rude.”

Joe laughs, but it’s a delighted sound, one without an ounce of mockery in it. “It would be terribly rude, I agree,” he says. “I’m glad you opted not to abandon me so cruelly. Otherwise I imagine I’d be forced to go home alone and drown my sorrows in the contents of my liquor cabinet, all while being denied the pleasure of your company.”

“Well. We can’t have that, I suppose.” Nicky aims for suave, but suspects he misses by a mile, his tongue tripping over the words as he pushes them out.

If Joe notices, however, he’s kind enough not to say. Instead, he reaches over to get the door, holding it open and gesturing Nicky on ahead of him with his free arm. 

“Thank you,” Nicky says, right before remembering that he’s supposed to keep them outside where Booker will be better able to watch over things. He flounders, wondering how best to correct his mistake.

“Something wrong?” Joe asks, his forehead crinkling in confusion when Nicky makes no move to step forward.

“No - I. It’s just - I,” Mentally, Nicky kicks himself for acting like a bumbling idiot. He may not be their top undercover operative, but he’s usually better than this.

“It’s just it’s such a nice night,” he says finally. “Could we maybe eat out here?”

“Of course,” Joe says easily. He catches the eye of a woman inside, one whom Nicky is going to assume is the restaurant manager, and nods towards one of the tables located on the patio. The woman nods in return, at which point Joe pulls away from the still open door. “Come on. This spot looks good.”

Nicky mumbles something he hopes is an agreement and trails after him towards the appointed table. 

In keeping with his nature, Joe moves to pull Nicky’s seat out for him, a move Nicky is initially flattered by that quickly shifts to mortification when he realizes Booker can see everything that’s happening. He mutters his thanks under his breath and drops down into his chair where he begins awkwardly fiddling with the cutlery in a bid to distract himself.

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Joe says as he settles into his own spot, “but you seem a little nervous.”

Nicky stills his hand, letting it lay flat over table while the other splays over his own thigh out of sight. “Ah, yes. Well.” He tries. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

Joe gives him a soft smile. “I find that hard to believe. Someone such as yourself must have all manner of people just waiting to knock down his door. You look lovely by the way.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Nicky says. He’s suddenly glad they’re outside where it’s not as well lit as indoors because at least this way he has a faint hope that Joe won’t notice the colour now staining his cheeks. “You too.”

“I do, don’t I?” Joe says, gesturing at the light blue top that does an excellent job of tastefully hinting at his chiseled physique.“I’m so glad you noticed.”

Startled, Nicky barks out a laugh, and it quickly dawns on him through Joe’s answering smile that that was his intent all along. Feeling himself relax, Nicky leans back in his chair. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Should I not?” Feigning innocence, Joe taps thoughtfully on his bottom lip with a forefinger. “Modesty doesn’t really become me, I don’t think.”

Nicky snorts. “Modesty is a virtue,” he says primly. 

Joe lets out a braying laugh that has the only other couple on the patio turning to look at him, but he pays them no mind. “Wonderful! I was betting you had a sharp tongue on you. I’m glad to see I was right.”

It’s on the tip of said tongue for Nicky to retort with the kind of innuendo that most would consider out of place on a first date when he’s saved by the arrival of their waitress. Placing a matching pair of menus on the table, she pulls a pad from her apron pocket and asks if they’d like anything to drink to start with.

Joe grins. “Not to give in to stereotypes, but my charming companion is Italian, so I suspect there’s a good chance he’ll expire without wine to go with dinner. Can we see your selection list, please?”

They choose a reasonably priced bottle of red that the waitress insists is among the establishment’s most popular sellers, and Nicky cocks an eyebrow as she bustles off to retrieve it. 

“I don’t recall telling you I was Italian,” he says dryly. 

“You didn’t have to,” Joe replies with an easy shrug. “I’ve got a pretty good head for languages, and your accent is noticeable. Not in a bad way,” he’s quick to add. “It’s just distinctive.”

Nicky considers this and decides he doesn’t mind. Resting his elbows on the table, he tips his head to one side. “It appears that you’ve picked up more about me than I’d realized. I think it’s only fair then that you should tell me about yourself.”

Joe shifts forward, making a show of mimicking Nicky’s posture. “What did you want to know?”

*****

The waitress returns with their wine and a pair of glasses that she fills nearly to the top, after which she takes their orders and disappears again. Caught up in his conversation with the charming man in front of him, Nicky barely notices.

Joe is an artist by trade. Blessed with access to an old family fortune he tries to downplay, he spends the bulk of his time working in his studio, creating pieces that he occasionally deigns to show in galleries. He’s kind enough to let Nicky see a few pictures on his phone and the results are stunning.

“That’s absolutely lovely,” he remarks at the sight of a landscape vista that’s so lifelike, Nicky feels as if he could touch it even through the tiny screen. “You’re very talented.”

Joe shrugs and draws the phone back. “It started out as just a hobby,” he says. “A long time ago I was more of a, I’m not sure how to put it, a trader, perhaps. Now, though, I have much more time on my hands and I prefer to spend it doing what I love.”

“Making art,” Nicky surmises.

“Among other things,” Joe agrees. “I’m also something of an historian, and I love studying languages. I’ve always had a knack for them, and I find them fascinating.”

“How many do you speak?” Nicky asks. He’s learned and forgotten more languages than he can count at this point, many of which don’t even exist anymore, but it’s a struggle for him. Out of all his family, he’s the most inept when it comes to picking them up.

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve lost count?” Joe asks, laughing when Nicky rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s just that the actual number makes it sound like I’m bragging, and I wouldn’t want to scare you off when we’re having such a good time.”

Nicky snorts and reaches for his wine glass. “If you think that’s all it would take to send me running, I’m afraid you’re drastically underestimating my past experiences.”

“Oh?” Joe watches as Nicky takes a few slow sips before continuing. “Do tell.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Nicky says dryly. He swirls the glass in his hand once or twice, more for something to do than anything else.

“Ah.” Joe shifts backwards in his seat, and it’s as if the very air around them changes with him. Gone is the easy lightheartedness they’ve been operating under, and it’s replaced with an anticipatory feeling.

“I take it this is the part where you subtly shift the conversation around to why you originally landed at my door,” Joe says. “A pity. I was enjoying myself up until now.”

“Me too,” Nicky replies, “and I see no reason for that to change. Given your work as both an artist and a historian, I can easily see how you became interested in antiques.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but close enough, I suppose.” Joe’s tone is as friendly as ever, but there’s a look in his eye that tells Nicky he’s suddenly found himself skirting a tightrope. “What about you? Where did your interest stem from?”

Nicky considers this. “I have a friend who says I’m an old soul at heart,” he says finally. It’s not even a lie, Booker tells him this all the time, and he suspects it won’t be long before Nile picks up the habit. “I guess I just find the past fascinating.”

“How ironic,” Joe tells him, refusing to explain what he means. “Do you have a favorite era?”

“If you mean to collect, then no. But if you mean to study,” Nicky shrugs and allows himself a little private joke, “... I have a particular interest in the crusades.”

Joe’s eyebrows go up in surprise, but don’t stay there for long. “Nasty business, those,” he says after a moment. “And very misrepresented in modern times, I find.”

He has no idea. “They were shameful,” Nicky says flatly, his own guilt in no way lessened even after nine centuries of trying do better. “The siege of Jerusalem alone ...” he makes a distasteful noise, but then shrugs. “Sorry, that’s a little pet peeve of mine.”

“No apologies necessary,” Joe says, waving an errant hand. “You’re an historian too then.”

“Not like you,” Nicky’s quick to tell him. His own qualifications can’t be anything like Joe’s after all. “I just like knowing the background of my pieces and sometimes I go down the rabbit hole when I’m looking into things.”

“Don’t we all,” Joe chuckles. “Well, I guess if it really means that much to you, I could show you what I have lying around.”

“Don’t get too excited,” he’s quick to add. “I only have a few things on display at home. Everything else is safely locked away in storage.”

Nicky considers this. “I would very much like to take you up on that offer,” he says finally, “but,” and this next part he admits like a confession, “I’m also very much enjoying myself and don’t want to see tonight turn into nothing more than a business meeting.” He fiddles with his napkin, feeling unsure. “Does that make sense, or am I being ridiculous?”

Joe’s expression softens, and he reaches out to rest one of his hands on top of Nicky’s. “Yes, it does, and no, you’re not,” he says. “Hell, even if that weren’t the case, I’m in the exact same boat. We’ve only just met, yet I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Yes,” Nicky agrees, all thoughts of the mission vanishing from his head. “That’s it exactly.”

The smile Joe gives him makes Nicky’s chest tighten, leaving him suddenly short of breath. 

“Here’s what I’m going to suggest,” Joe says then. “I’m going to call that nice waitress back here and ask for the bill. Once that’s taken care of I’m going to invite you back to my place for what we can refer to as a nightcap. As for what happens after that, however, I guess we’ll see?”

He pitches the last line like a question, one that’s open for interpretation. For his part, Nicky barely has to stop and consider his response. The others know where he is if he gets into trouble, and the nature of their existence is such that any negative ramifications from his actions will be more annoying than anything else.

“Alright,” he says. “Lead the way.”

*****

The inside of Joe’s home is just as charming and idyllic as the outside. He holds the door open for Nicky as they enter, watching as he takes in the welcoming atmosphere with a bemused grin.

“May I take your coat?” He asks, grin sharpening slightly when Nicky startles.

“I - yes,” Nicky agrees. Shrugging our of the leather jacket Nile had foisted upon him, he hands it off to Joe and watches the other man hang it up on a nearby hook. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Joe replies. He makes quick work of his own coat, hanging it up to lie next to Nicky’s, and then turns back to face him. “Can I get you something to drink? More wine maybe?”

Still unsure of where this is heading, or maybe perhaps where he’s willing to  let it head, Nicky nods. “That sounds nice.”

“Wonderful.” Flashing one of the bright smiles that seem to come as easily to him as breathing, Joe nods towards what appears to be a cosy sitting room. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Not needing to be told twice, Nicky wanders into the room and settles himself in a comfortable looking chair, admiring the woodwork along the arms. 

“Those are from eighteenth century France,” Joe tells him, pointing at the chair and a matching one that he quickly claims as his own. He sets an open bottle and two glasses down on a small table between them. “They were commissioned shortly after the Revolution, and by all accounts I got them for a steal.”

Nicky almost quips that the only thing he has from that era is a grumpy friend who drinks too much, but stops himself just in time. Immortal jokes only go over well when made to other immortals. “They’re lovely,” he says instead. “Very durable given their age.”

“They were built to last,” Joe agrees. Picking up the bottle, he fills both glasses and offers one to Nicky. “This is much more modern, I’m afraid, but sweet enough despite its relative youth.”

Accepting the glass, Nicky takes a tentative sip, and finds he understands exactly what Joe’s getting at. There’s a rich, fruity taste bursting over his tongue, and he hums appreciatively. “Very nice.”

Glancing over at Joe, he finds that the other man has yet to touch his own drink, and is instead focused more on Nicky’s face. When Nicky quirks an eyebrow at him, he flushes and palms awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says ruefully, obviously embarrassed at being caught out. “I’m not usually so forward as all this. There’s just something about you - I mean, oh dear.”

His face visibly heating above his dark beard, Joe looks away and begins playing with the stem of his wine glass. “I really am happy just to show you the pieces I have on display if that’s all you’d like to do.”

Nicky feels a sudden rush of fondness that’s almost overwhelming given how quickly it comes on. Greatly daring, he sets his mostly full glass back down on the table and reaches out to draw a finger over Joe’s closest arm.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that we are both interested in more than just art now, yes?”

Joe sucks in a gratifying breath, and Nicky feels a flare of heat deep in his gut when their eyes meet. There’s something achingly familiar about that stare; he simply can’t put his finger on what it is.

No matter, though. Nicky’s walked this earth for long enough to know want when he sees it, and for possibly the first time in centuries he knows he’s about to put his own desires before the good of a mission.

If only he could find it in him to care.

*****

The wine gets abandoned in the sitting room. Nicky’s not sure which one of them moves first, and nor does he care. All he knows it that one moment they’re eyeing each other levelly, waiting for the dam to break, and the next their lips are meeting in a furious kiss.

Joe’s hands are everywhere - his hair, his face, his back, his waist, finally they drop even lower, palming over his ass and Nicky moans as they press down with intent. 

“Please tell me you have a bedroom around here somewhere,” he gasps.

“Technically, I have three,” Joe quips, snickering when Nicky swats at his shoulder in annoyance. “Well, you did ask.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Nicky grunts, deftly moving Joe away when he leans in to nip at the side of his jaw. “And no biting. I don’t like it.”

That’s a lie, sadly, but he can’t risk having to explain away marks that vanish as quickly as they arise. He suspects his backstory would put a serious crimp in the proceedings.

Joe merely hums in acknowledgement and moves to kiss the same spot instead. Nicky allows it to happen for a few moments, but quickly grows impatient. “Joe,” he says firmly, meeting the other man’s gaze when he moves to look at him. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Yes.” Joe agrees. “Yes, that’s a good idea. It’s this way.”

The room he leads Nicky to is as quaintly furnished as the rest of the home, but what catches his attention is the large, ornate bed at its centre. It practically cries out for the pair of them, and Nicky’s mouth runs dry at the thought of pressing Joe into the mattress.

“You do have exquisite taste,” he hears himself say, sighing happily when Joe comes up behind him to rest his hands on his hips.

“I do,” Joe agrees, nuzzling at Nicky’s throat. “And I wasn’t lying when I said you looked lovely tonight. However, I do believe we’ve reached a point in the evening where your clothes would look even better on my floor.”

Nicky laughs, delighted by the terrible line, and obligingly lifts his arms up when Joe starts tugging at his shirt. “Please,” he says breathlessly, “don’t let me stop you.”

Joe makes an appreciative noise once the shirt is off and tossed somewhere haphazardly behind them, but he doesn’t stop there. Clever fingers make short work of Nicky’s belt, and then he’s popping the button his jeans open, his hand stilling right above the zipper.

“May I?” He asks, and Nicky narrowly misses head butting him, he nods so quickly.

“Oh you absolutely may,” he says, gasping when Joe wastes no time getting his pants open and taking him in hand.

“ Shit ,” Nicky hisses, unable to believe he’s this keyed up thanks to what amounts to a bit of heavy petting. “Don’t stop,” he’s quick to add, one of his own hands reaching back to tangle in Joe’s hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t,” Joe promises, and Nicky can feel his own hardness due to how tightly they’re pressed together. “Stars above, you are  _magnificent_ .”

Nicky murmurs something that might be an expression of gratitude or might even be agreement, he’s too lost in the flood of sensation to care. Moaning, he cranes his head around, desperately seeking Joe’s mouth with his own.

Joe meets him readily, parting his lips and allowing Nicky to slip his tongue inside without so much as a single word of protest. They kiss for what seems like hours, but in reality can’t be any more than minutes, all while Joe continues stroking him in hand.

Pressure continues to build and it dawns on Nicky that coming while they’re still both mostly dressed isn’t what he wants. Although it all but physically pains him to do so, he breaks the kiss and nudges Joe back from him, turning so that they’re face to face all in the same movement.

“You have a bed,” he says, proud of the way his voice doesn’t break under the weight of Joe’s incredulous stare. “We should use it. And we should get naked.”

Joe laughs openly, but there’s nothing mocking in the sound, only delight. “Very well,” he says, shrugging out of the tight sweater that Nicky had so admired at the start of the evening. “Your wish is my command.”

Silently, Nicky promises not to abuse such power, but there’s a look in Joe’s eye that says he already knows. Reaching for his own belt, he shucks it off and then divests himself of his pants equally quickly.

“The bed is that way,” he says, pointing behind Nicky and then stepping forward to crowd him towards it, “and I cannot wait to see you spread out in it.”

The backs of Nicky’s legs hit the bed frame first, and all it takes is a slight nudge from Joe to send him sprawling onto the mattress. Unbothered, he merely gazes up at the man now looming above him, spreading his legs in an open invitation.

Joe sucks in a gratifying breath and leans down to curve his fingers over the hem of both Nicky’s pants and his underwear. He lifts a single eyebrow in question, and yanks both off when he gets an answering nod. 

“Beautiful,” he says, and Nicky tries and fails not to flush under the weight of his attention. “A masterpiece.”

“You talk too much,” he says, not meaning it in the slightest. It’s clear even in their brief acquaintance Joe has a way with words Nicky could never hope to grasp, and he finds he loves the way they spill from his lips.

Still, that’s not to say he doesn’t think that mouth couldn’t be put to other uses.

Once again proving that they really are terrifyingly in sync with one and other, Joe climbs onto the bed, straddling Nicky’s hips with his thighs so he’s now in perfect position to kiss him again. He starts with his mouth and begins to plant a trail down his neck and torso, only stopping when he reaches a  very interested portion of Nicky’s anatomy. 

“Let’s see if we can’t get you talking instead then,” he says, grinning wolfishly right before he swallows him down.

Nicky doesn’t think the ensuing noise he makes qualifies as talking, but it is definitely  _loud._


	2. Chapter 2

Nicky’s woken up by a pair of cool lips tracing a line of kisses over the notches of his spine. He shifts slightly, humming appreciatively when Joe moves instead to the curve of his jaw. 

“You are,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, “extremely attentive.”

He hears a faint chuckle above him and Joe’s beard tickles the side of his face as he noses at the shell of Nicky’s ear. “I’m an artist,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “I have a keen eye for detail.”

“That,” Nicky says, finally opening his eyes to look at the man hovering above him, “is something we can both agree on.”

Yawning, he rolls over so that he’s flat on his back, pleased when Joe makes no move to pull away. Instead, the other man props himself up on one elbow and begins idly tracing a pattern over Nicky’s chest with the fingers of his free hand.

“Am I supposed to recognize that?” Nicky asks.

“No,” Joe replies with a grin. Then he bends down to catch Nicky’s mouth in a quick kiss. “I’m merely committing this image to memory. I may have to draw you later.”

“Please don’t,” Nicky groans, partly out of embarrassment, but mainly because he knows Andy will insist on stealing any replica of him that makes its way into the world, regardless of the medium used to create it. “I’m not worth the effort.”

“On that we will have to agree to disagree,” Joe tells him. “But no matter. Would you like some breakfast?”

Nicky considers the offer. He’s already let this go much further than he’d meant to, and it’s likely he’s going to be read the riot act when he finally goes slinking back to base. With that in mind, he sees no need to rush things.

“Breakfast would be lovely,” he says.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Joe says then, “because it’s already done.”

Nicky makes a questioning noise, and in response Joe grabs him by the hand. Tugging him from the bed, he waits with studied impatience while Nicky grabs his underwear up off the floor, and then leads him in the direction of the kitchen.

Impressed in spite of himself, Nicky whistles when he gets a look at the spread laid out on the table. His nose is greeted with multiple pleasant smells, all of which make his mouth start watering when he turns to glance at Joe.

“What would you have done if I’d said no?” He asks.

“Eh,” Joe shrugs, unconcerned. “I was banking on the opposite, and what do you know, I was right.” He gives Nicky a knowing smile and gestures to the closest available chair. “Please, sit. You’re welcome to anything I have in the pantry.”

“How convenient that you’ve laid it all out here then,” Nicky says dryly, and Joe laughs as they both sit down.

“Perhaps I went a little overboard,” he admits, still smiling as he reaches for a pitcher of what Nicky has half a mind to suspect is freshly squeezed orange juice. “In my defence, however, I only rarely have company, and never such so pleasurable.”

Thanks to his complexion, Nicky’s always blushed easily, and he ducks his head to try and hide the colour he knows is staining his cheeks. “You’re very kind,” he mumbles, more to the table cloth than anything else. As a distraction, he fiddles with the cutlery near his right hand, wondering what it is about this man that has him so enamoured. 

They eat in companionable silence, and when Joe stands to begin clearing the dishes away, Nicky moves to copy him.

“Please,” he says, when it’s evident Joe’s about to protest his helping. “I insist.”

Joe’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not long before he smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright,” he agrees. “I don’t have a dishwasher, though, so we’re doing this by hand.”

Not able to tell him how dishwashers are one of the modern inventions he’s never quite gotten the hang of, Nicky shrugs. “I’ll wash and you dry?” He suggests.

Joe’s smile somehow gets even bigger, and he gestures at the sink. “Please, be my guest.”

They gather up the dishes together, and Nicky quickly moves to fill the sink with warm soapy water. He picks up a cloth from where it’s hanging on a handle near the faucet, already reaching for the first available plate.

His mind starts to drift as they stand there, working shoulder to shoulder, and it’s only when he notices a small, intricately painted vase resting on a shelf above the window in front of him that he remembers why he’s even here.

Hating the thought of ruining the comfortable atmosphere, but knowing he has to, he clears his throat. “That’s a lovely piece,” he says, nodding towards the vase since his hands are currently full. “Is it part of this fabled collection you’re still claiming to have?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Following his gaze, Joe likewise glances at the vase, his brow furrowing in a way Nicky can’t parse out. “That one’s nothing,” he says finally, “just a pretty trinket I picked up in Malta.”

Nicky blinks. “You’ve been to Malta?” He asks. It’s become one of his favorite places to visit over the centuries, and for some reason it surprises him that Joe has been there as well. 

“I love it there,” he says when Joe nods. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Joe agrees. “I really should go back soon. It’s been too long since I’ve visited.”

“Having said that,” he says, shaking free of whatever memory he’s now caught up in, “I did not miss your very subtle reminder that I made a promise to you last night. Would you like to see the antiques I initially lured you in with?”

Laughing in spite of himself, Nicky waves at his bare chest with a soapy hand. “Can I at least put some clothes on first?”

*****

Freshly showered but dressed in last night’s clothes, Nicky follows Joe out of the master bedroom and down the hall towards the back of the house, listening intently to the other man as he speaks.

“I know I told you this place has three bedrooms,” he saying now, “but that’s technically not true these days. It had three when I bought it, but I converted one into an art studio shortly thereafter and as for the third, well.” He shrugs and grips the last doorknob in the hallway. “It’s not like anybody else was using the space.”

He steps into the room then and over his shoulder Nicky can see a mix of display cabinets and curio cabinets lining two walls, each of them filled with various items. The other walls are lined with artworks, while a handful of statues and sculptures litter the floor. It’s a small scale museum tucked away in a single room.

“Madre di Dio,” he murmurs, right away drawn to a series of sketches done in a hand he recognizes. “Are these?”

“Yes,” Joe says, as casual as you please, “some of his early designs for Capitoline Hill. I know he was much better known for David and that hideous ceiling, but I always enjoyed his architectural work more.”

“You speak as if you were there,” Nicky says with a laugh, even as his own memories of Florence come flooding back to him.

“Not for many years now,” Joe replies. He sweeps a hand over the collection, inviting Nicky to take a look. “After you.”

The room really isn’t large, so it doesn’t take them long to do a circuit, or, rather, it wouldn’t if Nicky didn’t get distracted in front of a particular display case. Sitting dead in the middle are a wickedly sharp dagger and it’s sheath, both of which cause his breath to catch.

“Oh that,” Joe says, coming to stand beside him. “Most people don’t seem to think much of it, but it’s honestly one of the rarest pieces I own.”

“Of course it is,” Nicky murmurs, his eyes never leaving the blade, so similar to the one that had ended his life the very first time. “It’s almost a thousand years old.”

Joe’s eyebrows rise upwards in surprise and he makes an impressed noise. “You really do know your history,” he acknowledges. “And you’re right. It was supposedly worn by one of Jerusalem’s defenders during the first Crusade. He survived the carnage when the city fell and had this with him at the time.”

He’d been luckier than that other soldier Nicky had encountered then, he muses. Absently, he cocks his head to the side. “How in the world did you come by it?”

Joe snorts. “Family heirloom,” he says, eyes twinkling. “How did you know what it was at just a glance?”

Nicky has a brief internal struggle over how much to tell him. He’s now certain that Joe is nothing more than he appears - a delightful, wealthy man with a genuine interest in both art and history - but that doesn’t mean he can be trusted with even a vague notion of what’s brought the team to his door.

On the other hand, they need intel, and this may be the best way to get it.

Feeling more distressed than he should, he sighs. “I have an interest in ancient artifacts, it’s true, but I have to confess I’m not exactly the collector I made myself out to be.”

Unable to meet Joe’s eye, he stares down at the dagger in its case. “There is a group of ... very bad people who are smuggling rare pieces somewhere in the area and using the resulting funds to finance immoral activities. I’m part of a team trying to stop them.”

Silence descends upon the room, so oppressive Nicky’s convinced he can make out the sound of his own heart beating in his chest. The better part of a minute passes before it’s broken.

“I’m sorry,” Joe says, speaking slowly like that will somehow help him figure out what’s going on. “I think I’m going to need you to repeat that.”

Sighing again, Nicky forces himself to turn around and look at his companion. “I’m part of a team working on the continent to try and stop the aforementioned smuggling. I originally went to Dr. Keller to try and see if she might provide a viable lead, and when she brought up your name it was decided that I should seek you out.”

“Admittedly,” he’s quick to add, “I was just supposed to talk to you. There’s a very good chance my boss is going to throttle me because of everything else.”

“Not that I think it was a mistake,” he says firmly, wanting to make this point very clear. “And nor was it a means to an end if that’s something you’re worried about. It happened because I wanted it, and I think you did too.”

“Well,” Joe says faintly, “you certainly know how to make a man feel special.”

Nicky squirms, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve made this awkward. I should go.”

“No.” It’s hard to tell who’s more surprised by Joe’s denial, but the word is firm when he says it. “You don’t get to just drop a bomb like this and run away. What kind of information are you looking for?”

Mentally, Nicky considers what they know about the extremists and their operation, as well as how much of that he should share with Joe.

The answer to that second point is probably ‘none’, but he’s in too far to back out now.

“The pieces you own,” he says finally, “how do you come by them?”

Joe frowns at him. “It’s all legitimate, if that’s what you mean,” he says, speaking somewhat sharply. “I don’t make black market deals.”

His wording is just careful enough for Nicky to catch it. “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort,” he says placatingly. “Truly, I’m not. I am, however, wondering if you might know where someone who isn’t so morally inclined might go to either pick up or unload various items.”

That earns him a sigh. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Joe tells him, but at least most of the bite has left his tone. “I might have some ideas,” he adds when Nicky gives him a pointed look, “one hears things if one spends enough time dealing with the pieces that I do.”

Nicky doesn’t quite manage to keep from rolling his eyes, but nor does he manage to hold back an entire grin either. “And would one be inclined to share this information with a man trying to put a stop to such bad behaviour?”

“That depends,” Joe says flatly. “How much danger are you likely to get into if I tell you where to look?”

“That’s my business,” Nicky replies, face heating at the thought of Joe worrying about him. “If it helps, though, probably not enough to do any lasting damage.”

“I do hope you realize that’s not nearly as comforting as you seem to think it is,” Joe tells him. “But fine,” he’s quick to add, “our admittedly brief acquaintance is enough to tell me you’re not going to let this lie. So be it then, you want the Midnight Lily.”

Nicky blinks at the apparent non sequitur. “The - what is that? Some kind of code?”

Joe laughs, a bit of the visible tension sliding off him as he does so. “Not a code, no. It’s a club down by the waterfront. I don’t know much about it, but the owner is someone I was warned away from by a few people. Apparently there are rumours about the club being used as some kind of front, although nothing’s ever been proven.”

“Yes, that’s kind of the point,” Nicky says dryly. “I don’t suppose you can give me any more detail, can you?”

Joe gives him a look that moves beyond pointed. “I’m just a simple artist, Nicky. I hear things every now and again, but I don’t make it a habit of following up on them, quite the opposite really.”

Nicky raises his hands, not wanting to start a fight. “I understand,” he says soothingly, “and it’s for the best, no doubt. Thank you for giving me what information you have.”

“I’m not so sure I should have,” Joe says dubiously. “I - would hate to see something bad happen to you,” he admits. “Especially as a result of a lead I gave you.”

“I’d have found it one way or another,” Nicky says bluntly. “All you’ve done is speed up the process, for which I’m grateful.”

“Mmm.” Joe doesn’t look appeased. “It might not get you anywhere.”

He sounds hopeful, and Nicky gives in to the urge to touch him, cupping a hand over his cheek and letting him thumb trace idly over the hinge of his jaw. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, “and so does my team. We’ll be fine.”

Joe shifts so that he can brush his lips against the palm of Nicky’s hand. “You’ve an interesting man, Nicholas Smith, which I’m now going to assume is not your real name, and I’m glad to have met you.”

“Do me a favour,” he adds while Nicky is still trying to figure out how to respond. “Once whatever you’re mixed up in is said and done, I wouldn’t be adverse to you letting me know you’re alright. If you’re allowed to tell me that kind of thing, I guess.”

“Technically I’m not supposed to have done any of what we have in the past twenty hours or so,” Nicky admits. “Yet in your case I think I’ll continue to make an exception.”

*****

It takes Nicky all of five seconds upon his return to the safehouse to confirm that he’s secured himself a spot at the top of Andy’s shit list. Quynh and Booker are nowhere to be seen when he comes inside, but Nile’s sitting at the table next to Andy, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Nicky snorts at the sight. “You going to chew me out in front of the new kid, boss?”

Andy’s already impressive scowl deepens, and Nile sniffs in offence at being referred to as a kid. Which, fair enough, Nicky supposes. She may be centuries younger than the rest of them, but she’s still a grown woman.

He shoots her an apologetic smile, pleased when she nods easily in return, and then focuses back on Andy. After almost a millennia of friendship he knows what she looks like when she’s well and truly pissed off and it doesn’t take a genius to see that’s where she’s heading now.

Nicky can’t bring himself to regret his actions though, so he spreads his hands wide, inviting her to do her worst. “Alright, Andromache. Lay it on me.”

Nile chokes on the coffee she’s just taken a sip of, and Andy snorts. “You’ve got no shame, Nico.”

“Not true,” Nicky disagrees. “I’m man enough to admit I screwed up.”

“You don’t say,” Andy grunts. There’s a scraping sound as she nudges the empty chair across from her out from under the table with her foot. “Come sit and explain.”

Glad Booker’s not here to drop the obvious innuendo, Nicky does as he’s told. “Don’t you want the others here so I can give you all the intel at the same time?”

“I’m sure you can handle going over the details twice,” she says dryly. “What happened, Nicky?”

Nicky shrugs. He truly isn’t ashamed of what he’d done with Joe last night, but if pressed he’ll cop to being at least slightly embarrassed that he’d done it while on the clock. “I got caught up in the moment,” he confesses. “There was just something about him.”

“You mean something besides the fact that you haven’t been laid in fuck knows how long?” She asks.

“Yes,” Nicky says simply. He meets her pointed stare without flinching. “You asked me to explain, but I don’t think I can. It was - I felt like I knew him, had known him forever, so when he asked if I wanted to go home with him,” another shrug, “I said yes.”

“Where he could have brutally murdered you with no one being the wiser,” Andy notes. 

“Well, in my defence, it’s not like it would have stuck.”

“Probably not, no,” she concedes. Her shoulders loosening slightly, she leans back in her chair. “Alright, promise not to do it again and we’ll call it even. Did you at least get anything useful out of him? Besides the obvious, I mean.”

Nicky flushes and shares a commiserating look with Nile over her coffee mug. “Let this be a lesson to you,” he says. “Never turn a mission into a bootycall if you can avoid it.”

Nile winces. “Please never say ‘bootycall’ where I can hear you again.”

“I make no promises,” he replies, “but yes, Andy, before you start threatening to thump it out of me, I did get some intel that might help us. Do you want it now or are we waiting for Quynh and Booker to crawl out from wherever they’re hiding?”

“They’re working, not hiding,” Andy tells him, and the words ‘unlike you’ sit unspoken between them. “They’ll be back soon. Until then - start talking.”

*****

As promised, the Midnight Lily is a warehouse that’s been partially remodeled into a night club. The far end of it isn’t open to the public, containing offices, storage space, and possibly something far more nefarious, but the bulk has been ceded over to booths, a dance floor, and a heavily laden bar.

For his part, Nicky has an excellent view of the surroundings, perched as he is up high on a railing that’s connected to the lighting grid. It allows him to keep an eye on the people below him, including Quynh and Booker who’ve been tasked with finding an in with the club’s owner. 

“Anything?” A voice says in Nicky’s ear, and even through the tiny radio there’s no mistaking the impatience in Andy’s tone. 

“Nothing yet, boss,” he murmurs, allowing himself a brief smile when she huffs out a sigh. “I promise I’ll let you know if I see something.”

“Yeah,” Andy grumbles. 

Stealth never having been her forte, Andy typically opts to send other team members in ahead of her for recon missions. Especially ones that involve blending in with such an eclectic crowd. She’s holed up outside as backup with Nile, fully prepared to come charging in if things go south. Unless that happens, however, she doesn’t have much to do.

Nicky’s not expecting that to change, honestly, but it’s nice to know she’s there if they need her. Less nice though, is the ongoing complaining.

Too professional to turn his radio off like part of him wishes he could, Nicky instead focuses on doing another survey of the room. Booker is posted up near the bar, while Quynh, unsurprisingly, has garnered a pack of admirers out on the dance floor.

He watches her sway for a few moments, centuries of experience giving her grace that none of the people near her could ever hope to replicate, before he again moves on. His eyes trail over patron after patron until they inevitably land on a familiar face that draws a gasp out of him.

“Nicky?” It’s Nile this time, no doubt brought up short by his reaction. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes now locked firmly on where Joe has just entered the building, Nicky licks suddenly dry lips. “Possibly,” he says. “The person who gave me the intel is here.”

“You think he’s setting us up?” Andy asks sharply, and Nicky doesn’t have to see her to know she’s already tensing for a fight. “Maybe he’s working with these people after all.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Nicky says quickly, his gut insisting that Joe would never be involved in something so tawdry. “I don’t know why he’s here, but I trust him.”

Andy curses. “You’ve known him for two days. Stop thinking with your dick.”

“I’m not - hang on. Something’s happening.”

Having taken a seat in an unoccupied booth, Joe engages in a brief conversation with a waitress, who nods and heads away from his spot. Instead of going to the bar, however, she walks towards a nondescript door and promptly vanishes through it.

Nicky watches the door for several tense seconds before it opens again. First the waitress comes out, but she doesn’t make a move to return to Joe. The person who follows her, however, a large man who’s entire bearing screams ‘bodyguard’, does.

The man stops at Joe’s booth but doesn’t sit down. Instead he says something that has Joe nodding and climbing to his feet. The bodyguard makes a small gesture, and Joe then follows him back the way he came.

“That sounds like a meet up,” Booker says when Nick describes what he’s seen. “Hate to say it, Nicky, but it sounds like your boy’s not as clean cut as you thought.”

“Never mind that,” Quynh chimes in. “What’s our next move?”

“Fall back,” Andy says. “Thanks to Nicky this guy knows enough to tip off the bad guys, and I’m not risking us getting pinched again. Not like in London,” she adds, referencing the operation that had gone so poorly after Nile had first joined the team. “We need to regroup and come up with a new plan.”

Quynh and Booker immediately begin slipping towards their planned escape routes, but Nicky stalls under the guise of covering their retreat. He chews absently on his bottom lip as he watches them move, his mind only partially on his family members and far more taken up with Joe.

“I’m going after him,” he announces, the moment Quynh and Boomer have crossed the threshold. “Joe, I mean. Something feels off about this, and I’m not letting him deal with it alone.”

“Nicky ...” Andy’s voice holds equal parts irritation and confusion. In all their years together, Nicky has only rarely disobeyed a direct order, and he’s never done it without at least a viable explanation. What he’s suggesting right now is extremely out of character.

“I can’t explain it, boss,” he says ruefully, already sliding out of his hiding spot and calculating how best to get where he wants to be. There’s what looks like a service door opposite where he’s been perched all night. Maybe that will let him through to the back rooms without being seen. “You’re going to have to chalk it up to fate.”

“You know I hate it when you spout bullshit like that,” Andy mutters, but Nicky can tell from her tone that he’s won. “You’ve got ten minutes to find something worthwhile, and if it turns out this guy’s a traitor, you take him down.”

Nicky winces at the very thought, but his voice is steady when he answers in the affirmative. Then he slinks forward to the door he’d spotted, prodding carefully to see if it’s unlocked.

The door opens when he twists the handle, but not easily. If Nicky had to guess he’d say it doesn’t get used very often, and he’s grateful that the heavy beat of the music down below covers the resulting squeak of the hinges.

Closing the door behind him, Nicky does a quick check for security. Not finding any, he moves cautiously along, noting the stacks of crates and cables indicative of a storage space as he goes.

He finds another door beyond this point, one that upon opening it reveals a tight stairwell that in turn opens up into what appears to be an office space. It’s unfortunately not as empty as the previous spot, and Nicky has to be quick to disable the two guards before either of them can reach their radios.

Luckily, after almost a thousand years of fighting, Nicky is very good at hand to hand combat.

He drops the second guard to the floor, not much caring about being interrupted at this point, and proceeds down a hallway, at the end of which he can hear voices. One of them he can’t place, but the other is unmistakably Joe’s.

“ ... think you can just wander into my business without there being any consequences?” The first voice is saying when Nicky gets close enough to make out the words. “That was a very stupid thing to do.”

“Eh,” Joe replies, so nonchalant that Nicky can practically hear him shrugging. “Let’s just say you inadvertently made the whole thing personal, and I need to take you down before someone else tries.”

Finally reaching the edge of the doorway, Nicky carefully peers around the edge, instantly disliking what he sees. It’s another office, a personal one this time, as opposed to the cubicles he’d previously passed, with five men inside - Joe, his escort from earlier, two more men who have to be security, and a well dressed man who’s stance says he’s the one in charge.

Said man is laughing now, an unpleasant chuckle that comes from deep in his chest as he starts slowly circling around Joe in an obvious show of intimidation. To his credit, Joe looks more annoyed than anything else.

“You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that,” the man says once he’s finished his circuit. Joe raises an unimpressed eyebrow in return and the man scowls. “I don’t know how you found out about what we’re doing here, but you’re going to wish you’d left it alone.”

Joe, god help him, makes a show of yawning in the man’s face. “Yes, yes,” he says, sounding bored. “You would not believe me if I told you how many times I’ve heard speeches like this before. Can we get on with it now?”

The goon behind him snarls and steps forward as if to deal with him, but stops at a quick motion from his boss.

“No,” the leader snaps. “He’s mine.”

Like his minion before him, he now moves in Joe’s direction, only it seems Joe has other ideas. Dodging fast enough that he’s practically a blur as he does so, Joe feints around his first assailant, kicking his legs out from under him so that he hits the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Not stopping to see if the leader stays down, Joe lunges towards the two remaining men in the room, both of whom are reaching for their weapons. He gets to the one on the left first, grabbing his wrist and twisting it hard enough Nicky can hear the resulting snap.

The man who’s wrist it is yowls and stumbles backwards, clutching his arm to his chest, but the distraction has given the second man enough time to get his gun free. Snarling something Nicky can’t make out, he raises it towards Joe, who then once again winds up where he’s not supposed to be.

Impressed and suspicious by turns, Nicky watches as Joe gets in close enough to disarm his latest assailant. In fact, he’s so caught up in the scene that he almost forgets about the third remaining bodyguard until he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Figuring the operation is already blown, Nicky feels little remorse over shooting said guard down. Unfortunately, the noise draws attention to him, and while Joe reacts by finishing off his latest opponent, the leader instead slams his hand down on a button on his desk that sets an alarm blaring.

Nicky swears under his breath and gestures towards Joe. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

A look of indecision crosses Joe’s face for a moment, but then a door slams somewhere in the distance and the sound of running feet is audible even over that of the alarm. Letting the man in his grasp slide to the ground, he nods and darts across the room to Nicky.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he insists, even as Nicky gets a grip on his jacket and hauls him through the doorway. “I was trying to get this sorted out before you showed up to get in the middle of it.”

Nicky wishes he had the time to give him a proper incredulous stare over that declaration. “We will talk about why that is a  _ terrible _ idea later,” he says instead. “As of now, however, we are  _ leaving _ .”

Joe has the nerve to laugh at him, like he thinks the whole thing is funny. “Whatever you say, Nicky. Let’s get you out of here.”

“ I am the one getting  you out of here,” Nicky grumbles, but Joe just laughs at him again and shrugs free of his grip at the same time.

“We‘ll see,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Barely resisting the urge to roll his own, Nicky slips ahead of him and starts leading them away from the sound of encroaching footsteps. He’s not equipped to handle a full on firefight tonight, so they need to leave without getting caught up in one.

The alarm has likely signaled the closing of the club, but it’ll take time for all the patrons to escape. That’s too many people to risk with armed guards after them, so they need an exit opposite of how they’d come in. Nicky knows where one is thanks to having studied the schematics of the building, so that’s where he heads.

“I must say, you’re clearly very good at this,” Joe remarks when Nicky brings them to a stop to get his bearings. “And the combat gear suits you well. All told I’m extremely intrigued right now.”

Craning his neck around, Nicky gives him an affronted look. “You cannot be serious,” he says, letting his eyebrows rise like they want to. “Joe!”

The man in question merely grins back, unrepentant. “I’ve made a study of beautiful things throughout my lifetime,” he replies. “I think you surpass them all.”

“Yes, well, at the moment I think you are an idiot,” Nicky informs him. Turning back ahead, he confirms the coast is clear and gestures for Joe to follow him. “Come on.”

Joe murmurs something too low for him to catch, so he pretends not to hear him at all.

They appear to have shaken off the bulk of their tail, but Nicky nevertheless swears when they reach his planned exit route. There are two heavily armed guards, one on either side of the door, but very little in the way of cover.

“There’s only two,” Joe notes, grunting faintly when Nicky shoves him back behind the corner they’re hiding around. “Just let me -“

“No,” Nicky says, quietly yet firmly. “ _ I _ am the formally trained combat specialist.  _ You _ are an artist. Please do the math and stay. Put.”

Joe gives him a disgruntled look, which Nicky ignores. They’re going to have a long talk ahead of them once all is said and done, but for now they have more important matters to deal with.

Opting to make use of the element of surprise, Nicky throws himself across the hall, gun up and already firing before he’s come to a complete stop. He hits one guard in the shoulder, annoyed because he’d been hoping to down him completely, and twists to take out the second man who has a slower reaction time. 

That hesitation gives Nicky the precious seconds he needs to turn back to the first guard, who has a hand clamped over his bleeding shoulder. He twitches like he means to go for his weapon when he notices Nicky moving, but by then it’s too late and he hits the ground as heavily as his partner had.

And that’s when the third guard appears. Unlike the others his gun is already drawn and aimed, and his lips curve up in a vicious smile as he points it straight at Nicky.

Nicky waits for the expected flare of pain in his gut, already dreading how he’s going to have to try and explain his way out of this mess, but it never comes. Instead, he hears a frantic “No!” from off to the side, and the next thing he knows he’s being shoved to the ground.

Joe swears as the bullet finds its newly acquired target, and a dark stain spreads along his shirt as blood starts pooling from the wound. Dazedly, Nicky watches as he prods at his chest, looking confused when his fingers come away red.

“Shit,” Nicky swears, his heart sinking. He’d have survived the shot - maybe not pleasantly, and not without a plethora of resulting questions he wouldn’t have known how to answer, but he’d have lived.

Joe, though, Joe’s mortal. If he’s going to have any chance of surviving the night, they need to get him to a hospital.

First things first, however. The man who’d fired is still here and needs to be dealt with. Unluckily for him, though, the fall hadn’t cost Nicky his grip on his gun, and it’s still tightly held in his hand.

Surging to his feet from where he’s lying sprawled on the ground, Nicky doesn’t hesitate. Bringing his arm up, he fires, aiming straight for the head and not missing. The smuggler goes down, blood and brain matter coating the wall behind him.

Nicky’s refocused before his body even hits the ground. Shoving his gun in its holster, he darts over to Joe, catching him right as his knees give out.

Joe grunts when Nicky gets his arms around him, lines of pain etched into his face. “For the record,” he gasps as Nicky lowers him carefully to the ground, “I do not recommend getting shot as a pastime. Zero out of ten. Negative stars.”

“I can’t believe you’re cracking jokes,” Nicky tells him. He tears open Joe’s shirt with shaking hands, biting back a whimper at what he finds. The bullet had hit almost dead centre in his chest, hitting god only knew what organs in the process. It’s a miracle he’s still breathing.

“You don’t have to say it,” Joe says wetly, somehow still so kind even though none of this would have happened if Nicky had never met him. “Trust me. I was the better option.”

He has blood on his lips, a sheer sign he doesn’t have much time left, and Nicky wants to cry. “You’re wrong,” he says, and he doesn’t just mean because the bullet wouldn’t have killed him. If they were both mortal men, he’d gladly have traded his life for Joe’s. “Oh, amore mio, you should have let me take it.”

“No, trust me,” Joe gasps, already so weak that Nicky can barely make out the words. “It’s alright. I promise, it’s ...”

He trails off then, his voice having fully deserted him, and he goes limp in Nicky’s arms, head falling forward against his chest in a parody of intimacy. 

“No,” Nicky chokes out, pain and guilt and a veritable army of other emotions coursing through him. He pats frantically at Joe’s face, fingers trailing over slack features in a vain bid to rouse the other man. “No!”

Joe stutters out one last breath - a death rattle, Nicky’s well aware - and then he’s gone, staring up at Nicky with vacant eyes. 

“No, damnit, no,” Nicky moans. He’s no stranger to death, has seen it take so many forms over the centuries, yet tonight it’s like he’s witnessing it for the first time, feeling as if it’s him who’s been robbed of his breath as opposed to the other way around.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, belatedly realizing that he’s crying. “This is all my fault. I never should have gone anywhere near you, or at let it go this far after I did. Mi dispiace.”

He leans forward to rest their foreheads together, murmuring successive apologies into Joe’s skin. He needs to get out of here, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to run just yet, too caught up in the grief he’s wrought without meaning to.

“I’m -“ he starts to say, another plea for absolution ready on his lips, when he nearly has a heart attack as Joe’s eyes snap open.

The other man gasps, his hands flying to his wounded chest, but when he turns to look at Nicky he appears almost ... sheepish? His hands fall back towards his lap, and his mouth turns up in a rueful grin. “Right.” He says carefully. “Surprise?”

Nicky gapes at him, unable to process what he’s seeing. “What?” He tries, stumbling backwards in shock. “How?”

“Um, well,” Joe starts. “I can answer the what, but I’m afraid the how has eluded me for a very long time. It’s alright, though. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

He says it so earnestly, but it had honestly never occurred to Nicky that he would. Unlike everything else, that much at least he’s certain of.

Nicky frowns, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch Joe’s chest. “I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do,” Joe agrees, “but this is what I meant when I said I was the better option.” Slowly, he pushes aside the pieces of his shirt that Nicky had previously ripped open, exposing the spot where he’d been hit. “See? Not a scratch.”

Deciding to take this as an invitation, Nicky gives in to his recent urge and places his fingers over Joe’s chest. Where there had previously been torn and rended flesh, now there’s only smooth skin. 

“That’s not possible,” he breathes. His mind is going a mile a minute, thoughts chasing over and over themselves as it dawns on him what this potentially means, but he still can’t make sense of it.

Unable to sense what Nicky’s thinking, Joe shrugs, remarkably nonchalant for a man who’d been dead mere seconds ago. “Eh. Not probable, maybe, but it’s been possible for, well, I doubt you’d believe me at how long.”

“I can’t die,” he says finally. “Not permanently, anyway. Shoot me, stab me, do whatever you want and I’ll just bounce back. Hell, even if you simply wound me, it’ll heal right up. I’ve been this way for centuries.”

Still in shock, Nicky says the first thing that comes to mind. “How old are you?”

Joe blinks. “Really?” He asks, almost sounding put out. “I confess my deepest, darkest secret to you and the first thing you want to know is my age? Honestly, Nicky, this is not where I was expecting your priorities to fall.”

“No, no, Joe, it’s important, I swear.” Not releasing the grip he still has on the other man’s blood-stained shirt, Nicky shakes him gently. “How  _ old _ are you?”

Joe sighs. “Well if it means that much to you,” he grumbles. “I was born as Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani in the year 1066. I died for the first time in 1099 and haven’t aged a day since.”

Nicky does the math in his head. “Nine hundred and fifty four. You are nine hundred and fifty four years old!”

“More or less,” Joe replies, sounding unconcerned. “I have to confess, my exact birthdate’s become a little hazy over the years.”

“Regardless,” Nicky spits. “Almost a millennia old and somehow we missed you! How could that happen?”

“ We ?” Joe demands sharply, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what do you mean,  _ missed _ ?”

Nicky pays him no mind. Deciding showing is better than telling in this instance he lets go of Joe’s shirt in favour of frantically patting around for the pocket knife he knows he has stashed somewhere on his person.

Finding it tucked away in the recesses of his vest, he draws it out with a triumphant noise, popping it open with a flick of his finger. “It’s alright,” he adds when Joe moves to recoil away. “It’s for me, not you.”

“Nicky, what -? No!” Joe yelps as he realizes what Nicky is about to do. “It doesn’t work that way!” He’s too slow though, and Nicky slices a long gash across the span of his palm before he can grab for the knife. 

“It’s okay,” he insists, letting the knife drop to the floor beside them. He holds up his now bleeding hand for Joe to see. “Just watch.”

“Watch what -  _what the hell_?! ” Joe’s reaction to the sight of Nicky’s flesh knitting itself back together is so scandalized he has to bite down on the hysterical laughter threatening to come out.

“My name,” he says once he’s gotten himself under control, “is Nicolo di Genova. I was born in the year 1069 and like you I died for the first time in 1099. Also like you, I haven’t aged a day since.”

“That’s not possible,” Joe rasps, his eyes wide. “That’s - it’s not possible. It’s not! I’m the only one of my kind.”

He says it like it’s a fact, a terrible, burdensome fact, and Nicky hears nine and a half centuries worth of loneliness in his words. Unable to help himself, Nicky cups his cheek with his clean hand, seeking to provide whatever kind of comfort he can.

“You’re not, oh, you’re not,” he promises, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I don’t know why it’s happened this way, and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to find you, but you’re not alone. We’re not meant to be alone.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘we’,” Joe murmurs faintly. “There are - are there more of you? Of us?”

Nicky nods. “Four more. My team. I’ll take you to them.”

“I - yes, alright,” Joe says. Moving like a man in a daze, he lets Nicky take him by the hand and slowly tug him to his feet. “I’d like that.”

*****

They take Joe’s car to the safehouse, barely stopping to check behind them as they leave. Nicky calls ahead to let the others know he’s not dead, he’s on his way back and he’s not coming alone, but the lights are dark when they arrive.

“This place looks deserted,” Joe comments, leaning over the steering wheel for a better glance. “Are you sure you haven’t lead me to a remote location just to kill me quietly?”

“We’re in the middle of the city, it’s hardly remote,” Nicky points out. “And I would  never .”

Joe flashes him a fond smile, but lets the topic rest. “Okay then,” he says instead. “Now what?”

Nicky trains his gaze on the building in front of them, not missing the subtle twitching of the curtains that tells him they’re being watched despite appearances to the contrary. “Now we go in.”

The entranceway is as dark as the street front when they make their way inside, but Nicky can hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen so that’s where he heads. Joe trails along behind him, shuffling like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

Quynh and Booker are sitting at the table when they enter the room, while Andy is leaning against the countertop in what Nicky hopes she doesn’t think is a subtle display of intimidation. Nile is nowhere to be seen.

Andy pushes away from the counter when she spots them, stepping closer to the kitchen’s centre. Notably, the position puts her in front of Quynh and Booker. “Nicky,” she says calmly. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Joe,” he replies, gesturing behind him. “Or,” he turns, wondering how accurate that in fact is. “Is that what you actually go by? Or do you prefer your real name?”

Joe shrugs affably, a faint smile twisting his lips. “Joe’s fine,” he says. “When you get down to it, Yusuf al-Kaysani died a very long time ago.”

Before anyone can ask what that means, and it’s abundantly clear from their expressions that all three of them want to know, there’s a gasp followed by the sound of glass breaking. 

Five pairs of eyes turn towards the doorway on the opposite side of the room, to where Nile is carefully skirting around the shattered remains of the mug she’s just dropped on the floor. Unlike the rest of them, however, she’s staring straight ahead.

“Holy shit, Nicky you found him!”

Following her gaze, Nicky’s unsurprised to find Joe staring back at her with a poleaxed look on his face.

“I know her,” he says when Nicky catches his eye. His voice is rough and confused, and he’s looking back at Nicky like he might have answers he now desperately craves. “I’ve been dreaming about her dying in a desert off and on for the past six months.”

Nicky frowns. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you dream about Nile but never any of the rest of us? That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“How  _ what _ works?” Joe demands, beginning to sound more than a little desperate. “I don’t understand what’s happening here. Who  _ are _ you people?”

There’s a scraping sound as Quynh pushes her chair back from the table and moves to stand next to Andy. “You must have many questions,” she says in her quiet way. “Come. There is enough space for everyone to sit in the living room. Let’s start there.”

Joe eyes her carefully for several long seconds, but once again it’s Nicky he turns an imploring gaze to. Only after Nicky nods encouragingly, do his shoulders relax the merest hint of a fraction. 

“Alright,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk.”

*****

“So,” Joe says over an hour later when they’ve given him the rundown of who they are and what they can do, “let me see if I’ve got this straight.”

“You two,” he nods at first Andy and then Quynh, “have both been walking this earth for multiple millennia. Nicky,” another nod in his direction, “has roughly a thousand years under his belt, and these two,” a final nod towards Nile and Booker, “are the children of the group.”

“I turned two hundred and fifty a month ago,” Booker protests, huffing when Nile jabs a heavy elbow into his side. 

Joe snorts. “I’m over nine hundred and fifty years old, my friend. Come talk to me when you’re verging on your first millennia of life as opposed to only a quarter of the same.”

Booker makes a capitulating sort of gesture with one hand while Quynh leans forward with an intense look on her face. “You’re virtually the same age as Nicky,” she says, going right for the heart of the matter. “That’s never happened before.”

“We died in the same year too,” Nicky adds, remembering what Joe had told him earlier. “1099.”

“That seems ... unusual,” Quynh says diplomatically, and Joe perks up at her tone.

“Do you think it means something?” Joe asks. “About why I’m different from the rest of you, I mean?”

“Perhaps.” Quynh’s voice is thoughtful, and Nicky can almost see the wheels in her head turning the way that they do when she’s already several steps ahead of the rest of them. “Where and how did you die?”

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” Joe remarks, but he’s laughing as he says it. “I’m kidding. It was a long time ago and the sting has since worn off. I died just outside the gates of Jerusalem at the hands of a Christian invader.”

“It was the first crusade, you see,” he carries on, apparently not noticing the way Nicky has gone stiff beside him. “I had travelled there with the intent to help defend the residents from their attackers and I made a mistake.”

“One of the crusaders had gotten separated from the bulk of his people, I don’t know how, but he was hemmed in on all sides yet still managing to wreak absolute havoc among my men. He must have taken out at least half a dozen soldiers before I reached him and in the end the bastard got me too.”

Joe’s voice goes quiet with memory, and he brings two fingers up to trace a line across his own throat. “I underestimated the range of his long sword. The things were heavy so usually it wasn’t something to worry about, but this fellow knew what he was doing and wound up carving me a new smile. I bled out within minutes, but not, I must add, before I was able to gut him with a dagger I had tucked in my belt.”

“You’ve actually seen it,” Joe adds, flashing Nicky a grin. “The dagger, I mean. It was still in his corpse when I woke up, so I grabbed it and my sword when I left the field. The sword’s long gone, but the dagger’s the one you spotted in my display case.”

_Of_ _course_ _it_ _is_ , Nicky thinks to himself.  _Of_ _it is_.  He stares at Joe, wanting to come up with a response, and yet coming up entirely blank.

Clearly sensing that something’s amiss, Joe’s grin fades. “Nicky?” He asks, one hand twitching like he wants to reach out and touch but isn’t sure he should. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“Not so much wrong as, I think, surprising,” Quynh pipes up. When Joe shifts to look at her, she offers him a rueful smile. “We’ve all heard that story before, you see. Only from the opposite point of view.”

“The opposite -?” Joe’s eyes widen in sudden understanding and he jerks back towards Nicky in shock. “You?”

Nicky takes a deep breath, but keeps his hands to himself. “In my first life, I was a priest in what is now called Italy. During the crusades, I marched on Jerusalem under the mistaken belief that my cause was just, when in reality it was anything but. While there, I got separated from my people during a battle and eventually died at the hands of an enemy soldier whose throat I had cut. That was my first death, but far from my last.”

“Jesus Christ, they killed each other,” Booker breathes. It’s maybe a little on the nose, but it does effectively summarize what they’ve learned. “That’s why they never dreamed of each other. They’d already met.”

“That still doesn’t explain Andy or Quynh or you, Book,” Nile points out. “Why am I the only one he dreamed of?”

“Maybe you’re not,” Andy says. Her eyes narrowing, she focuses back on Joe. “What happened after you woke up from the initial death. What did you do?”

“What do you think I did? I left.” No longer meeting Nicky’s eyes, Joe shifts further down the couch they’re jointly occupying. “I had no idea what was happening to me, but far too many of my men had just witnessed me die in an extremely graphic manner. I didn’t want to consider what they might to do me, so I fled.”

“I’d been a merchant prior to Jerusalem,” he continues on, his voice getting a little calmer the further away they get from the part about the battle. “I decided to head for the nearest port city to try and find work there. It took me some months to reach it, but eventually I did. After which I guess I simply faded into the crowd.”

“And did you ever dream of two riders on horseback?” Andy asks. “Two people you could tell were women, but you could only see their eyes because their faces were covered? That’s what Nicky used to see while we were looking for him.”

“I -  yes ,” Joe breathes, his voice going completely ragged. “I hadn’t thought of it for years until you mentioned it just now, but yes. In the very early days I used to have exactly that dream. It stopped after only a couple of months though. I remember it distinctly because I was down in the fish market the day it happened, somewhere I only went rarely and there were more ships in than usual. That night was the first time in months I didn’t dream, and I never had it again.”

Andy nods like this exactly what she was expecting to hear. “When Nicky died,” she says slowly, “he didn’t have separate dreams of me an Quynh. He had the same dream of the two us, riding together, possibly towards him. We in turn always had the same vision about him.”

“The gates of Jerusalem,” Quynh adds, picking up the tale. “We’d been there before so we both recognized it and immediately began travelling in that direction. Like you, Joe, we landed in the closest port city a few months after the dreams began, wanting to get there as quickly as possible.”

“We probably met you in that market the day your dreams stopped,” she says apologetically. “We never noticed though because our dreams continued until we found Nicky.”

“Which took fucking forever,” Andy gripes, still annoyed nine hundred years later. “All we had for him personally were flashes of armour, and the squirrely little shit dodged us for years because he thought we were demons come to punish him.”

“Andy,” Nicky groans, “I’ve told you a thousand times -“

“Yeah, yeah, you were a product of your upbringing. Whatever.” Cutting him off with a wave of her hand she points at Joe. “We never stopped to think there might be two of you because there’d never been a pair born at the same time before. I’m sorry about that.”

“I - well, I won’t pretend I’ve enjoyed being alone all this time,” Joe admits, “but it would hardly be fair of me to blame you for anything given the circumstances. I cannot believe the sheer number of coincidences at work here, though. What are the odds I’ve met four of you before?”

“You mean three,” Nicky says, but Joe shakes his head.

“No, four. Nile’s the only one I’ve been dreaming about lately, and it suddenly occurs to me that I spent a time in the early eighteen hundreds dreaming about being very drunk in Marseilles.” He gives Booker a knowing look. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, probably,” Booker admits, “but I don’t remember you.”

“It didn’t last long,” Joe tells him. “Maybe a month or two? I decided to go there to see if that would make it stop and it did. Must’ve passed you on the street someday with no one being the wiser.”

Booker smiles without any humour. “Knowing me it likely wasn’t so much the street as it was the gutter, but it’s certainly possible. Sorry I missed you.”

“Again, not you fault,” Joe tells him. “I imagine you were as confused by your sudden onset immortality as I was when it happened to me. You’d have had more important things on your mind at the time.”

Booker doesn’t answer, and as far as Nicky’s concerned it’s too soon to open that particular can of worms. Not sure his touch will be welcome, he hesitatingly places a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “We’d have looked for you if we’d known. I swear it.”

To his unending relief, Joe curls one of his own hands over Nicky’s, smiling softly. “Of that I have no doubt.” Then he shifts to look at the other four. “I have to ask, though. What happens now? We didn’t really get into it, but from what I understand you’re some kind of, I don’t know, mercenaries? Where does that leave me?”

Nicky frowns at this, not liking the implication that Joe might go elsewhere, away from them, from him, but Quynh cuts in before he can say anything.

“We don’t have to have all the answers tonight,” she says firmly, “but you’re obviously free to do whatever you want. We have space if you’d like to stay, or you can return to your home. It’s up to you.”

“I -“ Joe goes quiet, clearly considering. “I suppose one night wouldn’t hurt. And you’re right, there’s much to think about. Thank you, I’ll stay.”

Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Nicky moves to get to his feet. “The bedrooms are upstairs. I’ll take you.”

Ignoring Booker’s resulting smirk and the knowing look shared between Andy and Quynh, he waits for Joe to bid the others goodnight, and then heads towards the stairs.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid,” he says as they climb. “We tend to err on the spartan side when we’re on jobs. Often it’s less conspicuous that way. Still, it’s clean and there are no holes in the walls.”

He hears Joe chuckle as they reach the top of the stairs, and he’s smiling when Nicky turns to look. “I see you have very high standards,” he teases.

Nicky shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m getting the sense that our lifestyle has been very different from yours. Regardless,” he adds when it looks like Joe’s about to say something, “it’s this way.”

Since all the bedrooms are already taken, he leads Joe towards his own. It’s on the small side, with Andy and Quynh having jointly commandeered the largest and Nile having been given the next largest after that, but at least it’s private.

“We’re about the same size,” he notes after Joe’s followed him in. “You can borrow something of mine to sleep in and then I’ll leave you be.”

“Hmm?” Joe looks up sharply from where he’s been examining the room with a critical eye. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’ll sleep downstairs,” Nicky says. “I imagine you’ll want some time to yourself, and there’s a couch down there I can crash on. What?” He adds, realizing that Joe’s now giving him an incredulous look. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Joe echoes. “You’re asking me if something is wrong? Foolish man. Nicolo,” he says firmly, and oh  that does a number on Nicky’s insides, “by my estimation I have had unnecessary time to myself for nine hundred and twenty one years. If you don’t mind, alone is the very last thing I’d like to be right now.”

“Ah,” Nicky says, for lack of anything better coming to mind. “Well, so long as you’re sure. We should get cleaned up though. You ... bled a lot earlier.”

Joe makes a noise of confusion, and it’s only when Nicky points that he glances down at his chest, belatedly noting the dried blood still caked over him. “Right. Yes. Do you know I’d quite forgotten about this in all the other excitement?”

“I don’t blame you,” Nicky says honestly, “but there’s no reason for you to stay such a mess if you don’t have to. Let me show you where the bathroom is.”

“Will you keep me company there as well?” Joe asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Nicky feels a great swell of fondness take root in his chest. Whatever this thing blooming between them is, it’s clear he’s not the only one feeling it. 

Still, perhaps it’s better not to rush.

“Let’s just focus on getting you clean for now,” he says. Stepping over to the spot where he’s been storing his laundry, he sorts through the pile quickly until he comes up with a plain t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants. “Here. These should do.”

Joe takes the offered pieces of clothing with an easy smile, and follows Nicky down the hall to the bathroom. He’s shrugging out of his destroyed shirt when the door closes behind him, and Nicky hears the sound of the shower starting up before he’s even back to his room.

Despite his seeming indifference to his messy state, Joe must decide he likes the idea of cleaning up once he starts. He stays in the shower for awhile, so long in fact that Nicky wanders down to the kitchen and uses the sink there to rinse off the worst of the grime  he’d collected during the fight.

The shower is no longer running when Nicky comes back upstairs, but nor has Joe returned to the room. Assuming he’s now in the process of getting dressed, Nicky quickly changes into his own sleepwear and then sits down at the edge of the bed, unsure of what he should do next.

A few more minutes pass, but that’s all it takes before the door clicks open. Joe pushes it forward slowly, moving quietly like he’s afraid of disturbing someone, and he looks surprised when he spots Nicky.

“I thought you might’ve already gone to sleep,” he admits when Nicky raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “I didn’t want to wake you if you were.”

“You’re sweet,” Nicky tells him, relieved when Joe’s cheeks colour faintly at his words. It’s good to know he’s not the only one left slightly flat footed from recent events. “I take it you’re alright to share?”

To emphasize what he means, he thumps the mattress lightly with one hand.

Joe cocks his head to one side, the motion causing a few droplets of water to drip from his still damp curls. “You say that almost like you think I shouldn’t be.”

Stepping fully into the room, he closes the door behind him and fists his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, looking the closest to awkward that Nicky has ever seen him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable when I asked you to stay,” he says. “I can sleep alone if it’s going to be an issue.”

“No,” Nicky blurts out. “I didn’t - I’m sorry,” he says, scrambling to get a hold of himself. “I’m just not sure where we stand right now, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you.”

“How are you pushing me if I’m the one who asked you to stay?” Joe points out reasonably, and Nicky has to stop a moment to consider his response.

In the end, he decides that it’s best just to be honest. “I felt like I knew you from the moment I first saw you outside your cottage,” he starts, and snorts because he supposes in a way that was true.

“I don’t - I’m not someone who normally jumps into bed with another person, but the more we talked, the more I felt like we connected.  Were connected. I -“ he pauses then, hoping Joe won’t think what he’s about to say next sounds utterly foolish. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“Yes.” Joe’s answer is so quick, so certain that Nicky almost doubles over in relief. “Absolutely, I do.”

His words are enough to spur Nicky on to his actual point. “I think we connected in Jerusalem,” he says in a rush. “I think we were never supposed to separate, and I think we’ve been missing each other ever since. I also think this latest meeting is destiny saying enough is enough and causing our paths to finally cross now.”

“Something slotted into place for me when I found you again,” he concludes. “I want to do what feels right, but not at your expense. That’s what I meant by pushing too hard. I need you not to let me do that.”

“Even if it’s what I want too?” Joe asks, grinning when Nicky makes a questioning noise. “Nicolo, I am not in a habit of inviting men into my bed when I’ve known them for all of twelve hours. I’m as drawn to you as you are to me. As such, I’d very much like you to stay.”

“Tonight,” he adds boldly, “but also forever.”

Logically, one of them should acknowledge that they’ve had all of two days to spend time together. The kind of commitment Joe’s suggesting, especially for people like them, needs to be discussed and worked through properly. It shouldn’t be jumped into without a second thought.

Nicky’s well aware of this, but what he actually does is open his arms in invitation.

It’s all Joe needs. He’s across the room in seconds, climbing into Nicky’s lap and moving to kiss him as fiercely as he had the first time. 

Nicky spares a distant thought for the relative thinness of the safehouse walls, and then decides he has more important details to focus on.

*****

In the end they let each other go and fall asleep not touching, but when Nicky wakes the next morning it’s with Joe’s face shoved into the crook of his neck and one of his arms slung over his chest. 

It should feel oppressive after so many centuries of sleeping alone, instead it feels like coming home.

Joe’s still asleep, snoring softly in a way that makes his breath gust over Nicky’s skin. Not wanting to wake him, but equally unable to stop himself, Nicky runs his fingers gently over the arm curled around him, smiling when the touch causes Joe to let out a little ‘hmm?’ sound.

Nicky does it again, and this time Joe’s arm twitches at his touch. Greatly daring, Nicky then interlocks their fingers, raising Joe’s hand to his lips so he can press a small kiss to the back of it.

“How romantic,” Joe murmurs behind him, his voice scratchy with sleep.

Smiling, Nicky repeats the motion. “I can’t resist,” he says. “I think you have bewitched me.”

Joe laughs, and Nicky can feel his own smile against the back of his neck. “If anyone has done so,” he says firmly, “I feel it’s the other way around.”

Unable to go any longer without seeing him, Nicky rolls over so they’re face to face. He takes in Joe’s bright eyes, his riotous mass of curls, and leans in to kiss the smile right off his face.

“Good morning,” he says when he pulls back, letting a hand come up to rest over Joe’s chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’m shocked you need to ask me that question,” Joe replies, “but yes, I slept extremely well. Thank you.”

“Mmm. Me too,” Nicky admits. “I like waking up with you.”

“I’m reasonably certain I like doing anything with you,” Joe tells him, breathing out the words like a confession. “I meant what I said last night. I mean for this to be permanent if you’ll have me.”

“I’m not a fighter like you, not really,” he continues on without giving Nicky a chance to speak. “I haven’t spent all these past years diving into battles in defence of the innocent. I’m a scholar, an artist, and I’ve rarely engaged in violence unless it couldn’t be avoided, but I’d like to help you and your family if I can, especially since I don’t think we entirely finished your mission last night.”

He says it as if he hadn’t become a part of that family the moment they’d realized what he was, but perhaps that, at least, is too much for him to handle so soon. After so long believing he was the only one of his kind, how much of a shock it must be to learn otherwise.

Keeping these thoughts to himself, Nicky presses a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, the hairs of Joe’s beard tickling his skin as he noses along it. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises. 

“Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone’s nervous about starting a WIP, the second half is nearly complete and my goal is to have this piece finished by the new year.


End file.
